


and the dark ate the light (requiem)

by Relvich



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Kinda?, M/M, Nightmares, Not like All The I Love You's, Panic Attacks, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, as a disclaimer, be forewarned, but like the slow burn part is like. them becoming evil. idk., but yeah prinxiety? super in love, dark themes, i really do Not condone any of the shit prinxiety does in this, oh yeah also, so like, some fluff also i suppose but this Is Not A Fluff Fic, tags? my worst enemy can't u tell, they are Bad People, they become Bad People, will probs be darker than SPC at some points, yea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 17:53:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16748833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relvich/pseuds/Relvich
Summary: "Look, sometimes... sometimes beauty doesn’t come in pastels and pretty fairy tales. Sometimes it comes from the black rifts of chaos and despair.""...And we like it better that way."Two dark princes' descent to the blackness.





	and the dark ate the light (requiem)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Candycoloredwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candycoloredwolf/gifts).



> welcome to hell! welcome to hell! welcome to hell!

...Something dark broiled inside the prince.

Oh, that is not to say that all of his light is mere pretty prose, lies to keep the others complacent. No, that wouldn’t be  _ quite  _ accurate. It is more like he has dimension more than he is allowed, taking up too much space in a too small vice of expectation, trapped in place and only allowed sugar-spun candy castles and charming princes and winding roads to the fabled Emerald City - nothing more than a child’s fantasy in a man’s body that couldn’t take more than a few steps without someone slapping the backs of his hands with the ruler of  _ reality, dear prince, do you remember it? _

But he was so much  _ more,  _ so much  _ more  _ than that.

But he wasn’t allowed. He shouldn’t  _ want _ to be allowed.

For, see, the prince was Creativity, that was his name. Creativity, create - tivity, the force that makes, and yes, ha-ha, creates, and he hid within him all the cruelty of humanity’s most artful tortures and fears, all caged up inside like beasts snapping at their chains and only the prince’s willpower to keep them back.

A willpower that with every offhand comment, every little drip-drop of unintentional venom, every assumption of his intellect, every little  _ thing  _ melted away like the sugar-sweet palace of expectation they’ve ensnared him in.

That’s why, one day, when he felt an explosion of emotions so strong, so resolute that they were like a wall rushing into him full force, he didn’t shy away from them, and he didn’t take up his sword in defense as was his goody-two-shoes job. No, he indulged the beasts within him that day, letting them lap up the waves of pure raw  _ negatives  _ that rushed around and through them, and for the first time in a long time the prince took a deep, unburdened breath, and the air felt crystalline as anything. It felt like blood in his mouth, like midnight when you run the short distance between street-lights for fear of the dark, like venomous spit and betrayal and  _ fangs. _ And oh, and who could that delicious mosaic of feeling have come from but  _ him?  _ Virgil, the Protector, the only one among them whose darks could show without fear. The only one among them that enticed him. The only one among them who thought him an equal, the only one among them that had even seen a glimpse of the smirk and shadow behind the cheerful, goofy, mask that he wore when he was with the others.

Ironic, as he was afraid of his own darkness more than he was of anything, even the prince’s.

One more calming breath of the dark-chocolate bitter catharsis of the atmosphere. Just one more. 

Shaking his head slightly, he forced his body to  _ move, go,  _ one muscle by one he eased himself into a sprint, because no matter how nice it is to be relieved of the sickly-sweetness for just a moment it is not worth Anxiety’s suffering. And he knew he was, suffering, that is, because it never just came in  _ waves  _ like this unless he’d completely lost control and was panicking himself. He leapt past the immobile, shocked forms of Morality and Logic and sprang down the hall that Anx’s room was at the end of. In an instant, his quick movements turned gentle, and he tapped the door, knowing that in Anxiety’s panic that anything louder would scare him. The aura of the room in front of him turned rigidly-alert, a stiff kind of feeling that merely looked warily on for what may come next. A snake poised to strike, if it came to that. But no words came, which was fine, Creativity knew this might happen.

“It’s just me,” he murmured in soft, quiet tones, letting the melodic tones of his voice carry though like windsong. “Tap once back if you want me to go, twice if you want me to stay, thrice if you aren’t sure.”

Hesitation. Two quiet taps, after.

“Once for me to stay out here, twice for me to join you.”

Twice more.

“Okay, I’m coming in then, okay? It’s merely me.” 

He coaxes the door open as Virgil backtracked slowly from the door. Roman gave him his most sincere honeyed smile - there were still  _ parts  _ of him that were light, after all, at one point they’d been most of him, and if Virgil needed him to he’d stay the Candyland prince forever. He closed the door softly behind him.

“Hey.”

Anxiety gave a nod of acknowledgment. It seemed like the worst had passed already, and the man in front of him was only skittish and hypervigilant, now. And nonverbal, but that was fine, they’d done this before. 

“Can I sit next to you?”

There was a pause before the nod this time, but there was a nod, and the prince moved to sit next to him. Usually once things had gotten to this stage, all Virge needed was company, and conversation when he was nonverbal only irritated him, so he’d simply create from here. He conjured up his tablet and pen, feeling like a painting, but not wanting to subject Anxiety’s room to the cloying scent of the paints.

He took another breath. It was sweeter, and that was  _ fine,  _ it was just that something also was clenched tight in his chest. He gripped his pen just as tightly as a counterpoint, hoping it’d cancel out his feelings for once. It didn’t, and he let out a sigh. 

He took pen to delicate and precious tech, and he began to paint. With each brutal swipe and gentle drag of the pen, the tightness eased just a little, and so he painted just a little more, and more, and yet more, until his canvas was covered in angry black and red and purple - abstract and angry, some bits looked like flames unleashed, some like complete shadow, some like the calmness of negative space. 

Some of it looked like blood.

And finally, his heart felt a little bit lighter.

Until he saw Virgil’s wide eyes peeking at his screen.

“Oh no. Oh, goodness, this is - uh, this is - none too nice I know, gosh I was supposed to be helping, uhm - I’ll just go, mmkay? Ring me if you need me, you know where to find me - ” he babbled as he scrambled to get up, get out, before he could remind him even  _ more  _ of who he wasn’t allowed to be.

But then something caught at his sleeve. He turned around, and that ‘something’ was  _ Anxiety,  _ and he had a tiny little exasperated smile, which must’ve pained him so to put on, and -

And he shook his head ever-so slightly, and he patted the floor next to him where he’d just been sitting. 

So the prince sat down, heaved a sigh.

And he  _ breathed. _


End file.
